


A Car, A Torch, A Death

by kymopoleia123



Category: Twenty One Pilots
Genre: Blurryface, F/M, Personal Demons, Story based on a song, Teenagers, a car a torch a death, before marriage, f/m relationship, jenna joseph - Freeform, twenty one pilots - Freeform, tyler joseph - Freeform, tøp - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-07-13
Updated: 2019-07-13
Packaged: 2020-06-27 11:19:42
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,772
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19789810
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kymopoleia123/pseuds/kymopoleia123
Summary: I'll tell you a story.A story about a car,A torch,And a death.





	A Car, A Torch, A Death

I'll tell you a story.  
A story about a car,  
A torch,  
And a death.

The dying light of sunset seeps in to her bedroom  
window, golden light burning but warming our cold insides. It's the type of sunset that screams of the pending darkness; dying, dying, but not letting go without a fight. Spreading it's golden tendrils to kiss us tenderly before being quietly snuffed out. That's how I want to go out.

We sleep in strange ways, her and I. I sleep deeply, fears drowning me until I get knocked out cold. She sleeps lightly. My fears aren't me, they are simply a part of me. Though they keep me up at night, they are not my whole being which I am defined by. I'm glad she can sleep with ease. I'm glad she doesn't have to go through what I go through. I'm fine. These fears that tantalize me are just setbacks.

I awake on one side of the room and her on the other. Laying, our backs against the walls. I groggily stretch and crack open one eye, to see her peering at me from under her eyelids. She moves to lay on her back, and slides her arm across the smooth, wooden floor resting it halfway, a silent invitation. I hesitate for a second but then follow her suit. And the tips of our fingers touch. This touch is the acknowledgement her, my, our presence and everything in between. We didn't need fervent shows of affection. We know each other deeply that this is enough. This light touch is everything to us. To me.

Her fingers are soft, and I repeatedly feel the dark, glossy nail polish that coats her finger nails. She traces her finger around the callus on my middle finger. She understands my reason of living. I live to write and I write to live. I like to think that God put me on this Earth to write, to record my utmost inner thoughts. To turn shadowy wisps in to fructuous blossoms. However, all I can produce is sharp thorns that coat my hands, my mind with blood. He asks a great deal. Why do I have to be some sort of messenger? How can I trust that I'll get somewhere in life?

Just as I catch myself, she raises her arm to catch the rising sunlight in her fingertips. Her fingertips glow orange and shadows flicker on the wall behind us as she flitters her thin fingers. Once the sunlight rises too high, just like the sun, her glimmering smile fades and she turns back to me. I'm glad I'm here to witness a quiet moment, something that usually happens when nobody sees you. It's those moments where the other person is raw and completely unhidden. Moments where you love the person more for that small action. 

"Hey", she traces patterns on to the floor. "You should probably go. It's getting dark."

"Yeah, ok", I say as I stare in to her arctic eyes. "Will I...Can I see you tomorrow?"

She smiles in the dark, but something shadowy flits through her steady gaze. She relaxes as if she were holding in her breath.

"Of course you can. Of course."

She takes my hand in to hers, and leads me down the stairs to her front door. Down those stairs. I never let my problems enter her room. Enter her mind. While they've already snaked their way in to her living room, quietly festering and feverishly asking pointless questions, I never let them stroll in to her bedroom. It's not worth her seeing this. At least I try not to. I'm trying. I leave them to wait at the bottom of the stairs, sitting on the steps. And now they follow, as they always do.

It's gotten dark very fast. The sky settles from a dark lilac, in to the dark blue that we see every night. Street and porch lights are already on, polluting the sky so there are no stars. The one thing everybody needs right now, and somehow we've polluted the sky. No stars to make wishes upon. At least no one will be watching us from above. 

There is an audible click from behind her as she closes the front door and we stand on her front porch, gazing at one another. Cicadas chirp from somewhere deep in the forest behind the row of houses and they smooth the tense goodbyes in to relaxed "I'll see you again"s. The humidity envelopes us and whispers to us. "Get closer", it says, "I've helped you now, hold each other". And we do. She puts her forehead on to mine. I could stand like that forever.

This world makes me feel so small. This enormous world that goads and pressures and wants us to be better, to try harder, while we don't even know if we're good enough. I can't tell you how many nights I've spent staring out my window, convincing myself that I'm worthless. That my place in this world is so small that it's insignificant. I ask my mom all time, "Do you love me?". And I know she does. And I know she'll answer yes. But I need the satisfaction of someone telling me that it's true, that my demons were wrong, and I have nothing to worry about. That people actually love me and care about me, that I'm not a burden that should leave. When they tell me that I am worth it, it's only a matter of time. Before everything builds up again and I burst. This doesn't change when I'm with her. I still persistently feel the urge to ask the question. But these touches, looks, they suppress the question. They calm my frazzled interior. And I'm grateful. 

She steps back and peers in to my eyes. In to my soul. I've got two faces. And I'm afraid she'll see the one I'm not. I don't want her to run with horror when she finds out how fucked up I am. How much she'll have to put up with to love me. 

She takes my hand and presses to the left side of her chest, eyes unwavering. She is confident in what she has to show, what she has to offer. She takes her hand away from her chest and puts it on my chest. She's giving me her heart. "Buckle it up, ok?", she ruffles my hair and softly kisses my lips. She tastes like sour candy and sweet tea. 

I grab my car keys and jump off the steps of her porch. My shitty car is a clunker. It really is. Red peeling paint job. The top right corner of the windshield has a spiderweb crack. It squeaks when it starts, but otherwise is silent. A couple weeks ago someone stole my car radio while in a class at college. It's begun to feel like a chore when I drive my car. It's too silent. It's too silent. Enough for my thoughts to come crawling out and sitting in the back seat. They always seem to buckle up too. Why do demons believe in car safety? Well, at least this time the seat will be full. 

Opening the car door, I reach to the back seat and buckle up the one on the left. I settle down in my seat, looking up to see if she saw. She tilts her head to one side and blinks really slow, like a cat after it's nap. This brings a smile to my face. I lean forward and hook my chin on the top of the wheel and blink back, too, slowly. She rolls her eyes, grinning, and mouthes the word, "Go". I sit back again, change the stick shift from park to drive. As I pull away from her drive way, I watch her hug the wooden pillar on her porch. I watch until her house is from out of view. And then I let go of my smile. I can barely feel it now, the more the distance between my car and her house grows.

The serenity of a drive frightens me. In my car, I'm truly alone. I'm alone and there is no where to run from the imminent storm of thoughts boiling under my skin. I take a turn from the street roads and pull up in to the highway. Maybe it'll be faster then driving the slow roads. At least I can speed up. 

I lean back in to the cracked leather car seat, eyes on the road. I'm focused. I'm focused and the silence won't get to me. Not now. Not now. Now now. 

My eyes flick to the multitude of cars driving south. Dozens of headlights flicking past me, painting hazy light lines in to the air beside my car. My grip tightens on the wheel and I watch more and more headlights driving past. Going where I want to go. Being where I want to be. I want to crack the door so I could just fall out. To roll on to the pavement and run all the way back to her. No matter how long it takes. To escape this machine, driving me north, where I don't want to be but am forced to go. 

Then, all my doubts and irrational thoughts cease. I remember. I remember what she told me. I smirk and I surprise myself by laughing out loud. I slap the wheel and the car joins in with my laughter, honking. I look at the back towards the backseat. "She knew", I think to myself, shaking my head.  
"Well I guess I can't afford to break your heart...", I say aloud. 

And it's quiet again. The darkness deepens and simmers by the minute. Stars, and maybe something more, are beginning to creep out. There are only car lights here. No powerful street lights that tinge the sky a sickly orange. Only car lights and the void. I'm still tense, but I lean back in to my seat. I roll down the window and stick my hand out. It cuts through the wind. Feeling my fingers move through the wind reminds me of life. This is sort of like life. We push and push and push through the wind, every day, every hour, every minute, every second. The wind can be a heavy gale or a light, airy breeze. But it depends on you to keep your hand in place, to move it. You have the decision to keep it or to let go. Ultimately, life is the same. We have that decision, to stay or leave. There's no doubt about that. I'm not sure if I can hold on for long. My arm is getting tired. But, for some strange reason, it stays aloft, even though my muscles burn. Perhaps it's better to see how things turn out. Because maybe if you let go too soon, you'll miss the chance to change. To evolve from the point you are now to something better. Or worse. Who knows. Maybe that's why people stick around. We want to see how things turn out. 

Humidity sticks to my skin but the chill of the wind balances it out. That's like me and her. We balance each other out. 

Suddenly, I turn off at the nearest exit, drive past the blinker town, the broken down gas stations, corn fields, and roadside rest stops. I make a u-turn and race back to the highway, finally driving south. My demons sit quietly, staring at each other, puzzled at my sudden decision. They grip the arm rests and stare at me in a new gaze. She loves me. I love her. And I refuse to doubt the love that radiates, even when it's strapped in to the back of my near-to-breaking car. I need to tell her. I need to tell her that I love her. Now. It can't wait. I need her beside me. Plus I want tacos. She's the only one who keeps up my antics with a grin. 

The ride through the highway seems quick, not the sluggish one that I previously partook. Driving down her lane, I slow down and relish in the excitement before I roll up to her house. I think of the times we shared something more than time. We shared experiences. Ones that are painstakingly there and won't fade. The times where we go to Coldstone Creamery. How she always puts white chocolate chips on her ice cream. 

"It's a tradition! I take pride in rituals...", she squints her ice cream as the server puts the toppings shakily, aware of the scrutiny. I just laugh. 

Or the times where, together, we swing from the hammock in her backyard. The leaves rustle in the summer breeze and the light dapples our faces, kissing every inch. We just enjoy it. Enjoy existing. Most times it's silent. But on rare occasions I pull out my famous pick up lines, to which she nudges my head with her socked foot and sighs, shaking her head at the trees, as if saying, "What am I gonna do with him?". 

These are the instances where I understand one single secret of the universe from the whole galaxy of secrets. Maybe the only secret that I know the answer to. 

I pull to a stop. I park my car on the opposite side of the street. It's pretty late. Her light is out, but I know she's expecting a text from me saying I made it safely home. She always does. The only light that illuminates my world is the lamp post, white light making shadows long and gnarled, and the fireflies, that blink in and out of existence. I stop and breathe, closing my eyes. I rest both my hands on the steering wheel. I inhale the fire of that is my life, every bad thought, every weak point for me and I exhale. I exhale and out comes this desire. The desire to do something. I mark this night for myself. Perhaps it's the beginning. The beginning of hope. Hope has never been my friend. It's been taunting me ever since the seventh grade, promising that I was a fool to even wish, to actually hope. For the first time, this night, I feel hope in the palm of my hand. It will leave, yes, but it gives me an inkling, a trace of itself. "I'll be back", it whispers, an echo, fading away. And I believe it. I believe.

I step out of my car, making sure I lock the door, checking once, twice, and finally three times. It's gotten way colder than I should be in the summertime, enough to see my breathe in the air, but I blame the night. The night leaves you chilled to the bone until the morning sun thaws you. The asphalt is gritty beneath my feet and despite it being a fairly nice neighborhood, there are potholes. I begin my walk towards her house, towards her. A figure sits on the rocking chair on the porch and I draw nearer. Did she know I was coming? Had my thoughts been so loud that she heard them, distant, but there? I shake off my doubts. Now is not the time for that. 

She rocks back and forth, a soft mantra in the night. "Hey...hey.", I whisper to her. But she does not hear me. Perhaps she doesn't want to draw attention to peeping neighbors. There does reside a neighborhood watchman but, even then, wouldn't it be more suspicious to to just stay silent?

A grin begins to form on my face as I make my way past her car in the driveway. I wave silently, not wanting to wake up her parents, but she is still. It's too dark, she probably couldn't see me waving. Obviously. Stupid me, stupid me. Still, couldn't she see something? My figure? 

Then she moves and I stop abruptly. She's unusually tall, and is wearing all black. She never wears black. She told me she'll never wear black, not even to her funeral. Even more strangely, she's wearing robes.  
They are drab, made of a stiff looking material that stands as she walks, no, lumbers. Every step looks labored, and her feet drag along the porch floor, scraping and shuffling. Her body is bent in a strange way, as if in agony. This....this can't be her. 

The figure shoves one cloaked hand in to a parting of robes and it pulls out a long weapon looking....thing. I hear a metallic flick and a small flame erupts from a metal lighter, sparks floating upwards. The figure points the lighter to the object at hand and the object catches fire, flames licking their way up the....stick? No....no, the figure is holding a torch. It looks hastily made, as if, from a quick decision, from intuition rather than a school of thought. Light pools on to the porch, but it's not enough to see the figure's face. I try and squint, leaning forwards from my hiding place behind her parents' car. The figure turns toward the direction of my car, and what I can wholly guess, stares at it. 

Without warning, it snaps it's head and looks straight at me. The air from my lungs leaves, and all that is left of me is a hollow husk. I grip the car's right side mirror until my fingers are crying out with pain. I still can't see under the hood but I know, what ever it is, it sees me. It sees right through me and my legs lock. I can't move, I can't get this damn vessel to run before it gets to me. Instead I stand, gripping the mirror and holding its gaze as it inches nearer and nearer until the breath I see is not just my own. 

The hooded figure breathes out a laugh, fogging up the air between us. It's breathe smells like of a basement, like dust and forgotten memories wrapped in the faint smell of gasoline. 

A spindly finger emerges from its billowing robes and it faintly touches the tip of my nose. The finger is....cold. Cold like the feeling of a snake, cold but moving and alive. It touches me again, but this time it takes my hair and throws me, with surprising force, to the ground, just where the road and the driveway meet. My face slams on to the ground and it begins to throb, my heading pounding from the fall but also from the adrenaline. I grab on to mail box and heft myself up, leaning all my weight on to it. I hear a plinking sound from the mailbox and look down to find my own blood dripping on the surface. My hand flies up to my face and I gently try wipe the blood dripping from the tip of my nose, but all it does is smear my blood on my face. My hand begins to caress my cheek with my knuckles and when I look up, it was the hooded figure all along. 

The figure grabs my throat and lifts me in the air with one hand, cutting off my airway, leaving me gurgling. The torch burns close to my face, I try to shrink back as far back as possible. It examines my face. I can feel the scrutiny and disgust radiating off of the figure, in the way it squeezes my throat harder and in the way it chuckles harshly to itself. It brings me closer, almost inside the hood.

"You are nothing.", it sneers and throws me down again. The back of my head slams against the drivers side door of my car and I wince. I feel my legs work again and I scramble towards my car, fumble with the keys and throw myself in. I jam the keys in the ignition and start the car. But.... it won't start. It makes a loud chirping noise and I let go of the keys. I start it again, and it repeats the noise. The car won't start. The damn car won't start. Of all times, my shitty car takes out its anger on me now. The first chance I'll get, I'm going to sell this piece of crap. 

The figure creeps closer and I continue to try to turn on the ignition. My hands shake so bad that my keys fall out and fall somewhere near the pedals. I check the window before I dive down and sweep my hands around the floor. It's getting close now. It doesn't seem to be in a hurry. It's as if it's biding it's time to see what I'll do. If I'll stand up or run away like a coward. It wants action. It wants drama. It's mocking me. 

My hand makes contact with the keys and I whip up. I slam the keys in and flinch at a cracking sound. A pale hand with dark streaks on its fingers is splayed out on my window. The hand is pressing down, slowly applying pressure. A crack has appeared at the center of its' palm, and is expanding. Rapidly. I turn back, and pray to whatever god that'll listen. It doesn't matter anymore. I turn the keys once more, and the car sparks to life. I slam my foot on the pedal and the car jolts, throwing me forward. I don't let go. I speed away and scream with all my might. I scream for my life, for what has happened, and what will happen. I scream because, that's the only thing I can do at the moment that is in my control. And it feels good. 

I glance at my rear view mirror and the figure is standing there, watching me drive away. I know that what it was doing was just to scare me. It didn't do what it could've done. It was toying with me. He doesn't want me to come back. 

I may be a coward, but this is the one thing I will not give up.

I drive all the way down the road until it stops. I slow down my car and I bring my hands to my face when it hits me, this is a cul-de-sac. I'm going to have to go back. I bring my face down to the wheel, bite the top, and scream through clenched teeth. When my throat aches from the strain, I sit back, adjust the rear view mirror, and stare at myself. I can't drive to a police station, so I'll just call them. This is out of my hands. The person I love and her family is in danger. The blood will be on my hands if I just let this go. 

I pick up my phone from the cup holder, my fingers tremble as I type the short number and I close my eyes as the number rings. 

"911, what's your emergency?", a deep voice says patiently.

"Yes, hi. Um, I'm calling to report...", I pause to gulp some air in, " There's a person, outside of my girlfriend's place. I tried to enter but they beat me up. I don't know who it was."

"Can you tell me your girlfriend's address?"  
As I start to call out the address, the responder, interrupts me.

"Wait, could you re-", and the line goes dead. I look at the phone, but strangely the call isn't over. 

"Um, excuse me? Hello?"

Suddenly, a static sound fills the silence. Just as soon as it started, it stops. Then, a scratchy, disembodied voice calls out. Each word that is spoken is a different voice, a different age, a different tone. 

"They won't believe you.", the voices say simply, and the call ends, for real this time. 

I stare at my phone, trying to process what I had just heard, until the screen goes black. I start to shake violently. Suddenly paranoid, I check if the car doors are locked and if the figure is near. But I'm alone. 

Why am I always alone? 

Tears streak down my face and mix with the blood and sweat. I breathe through my mouth, breathes so deep my nose can't handle it. I slowly turn my car around and prepare to race down the street. I grip the wheel tightly, knuckles white, and take one last breathe before I step on the pedal and accelerate. Ten houses away, five houses away, four, three, two, one..... zero. As I speed by I catch a glimpse of her house. The figure is still there, but this time, it's scaling the house walls like a spider, long legs and arms climbing with ease. It opens a window and slinks inside. The window.....to her room. The lights turn on just as he enters. 

I find myself back on the highway, unable to comprehend the event that had just occurred. Am I...am I dreaming. Or is this fake? Maybe it's just a prank. 

I whip my phone out and start to text her. I know, traffic safety, no texting, yeah. But I can't just go home and pretend it didn't happen. And I am not ready to pull over and almost get killed my another shockingly sentient being. 

"Hey, what's up?", I text, feigning nonchalance.  
She sees my text and it takes her a couple seconds to reply. 

"I'm good, just going to go to sleep. How about you? Did you get home safe?"

I pause.  
She's fine.  
She's alright.  
Did I imagine this all happening? 

I check the mirror again. A deep cut runs over the bridge of my nose and there's a faint purple bruise beginning to form. Dried blood, crusty and rust colored, is smudged across my face. My upper lip tastes of sweat. There is a patch of singed hair where the torch got too close to my head. I'll probably have to shave my head now.

The evidence is all here. I saw with my very own eyes that the figure climbed in to her bedroom through her window. How can she be alright?

"Yeah I did.", I lie, "Hey this might seem weird but is everything alright?"

She replies immediately. "Of course. Why wouldn't I be?"

I don't know what to text. I watch the road for a while, trying to think of something, anything, to reply back. Nothing surfaces, nothing at all. 

Should I tell her what happened? I don't want her to fret. I'm the one who's worried about her. I should call her, voices be damned. For all I know, it could be him that's texting. 

"Can I call you?", I text her.

"Sure"

I speed dial her phone and she picks up on the first ring. 

"Are you ok?", concern to ringing in her voice.

"Yeah, I'm fine. I just wanted to know if you're alright.", I repeat firmly. 

"I told you, I'm fine. What's wrong?", she asks.

"Listen, I really don't want to freak you out but I saw...."

I can't finish the sentence. I don't want her to be scared. And she can't call the police. If they didn't help me then how can they help her? Luckily for me, she doesn't wait for me to finish. 

"....Can we talk about this tomorrow?", she says as her voice lowers.

I'm taken aback. She wants to talk about this tomorrow? She could die at any point and she wants to talk tomorrow?

"I don't think you understand, there was a person-", but this time she interrupts me. 

"Look, I know, ok? I know and I can't talk about this right now."

I sat silent, unable to speak. 

"Hey come on, are you still there?"

After a long pause, I finally speak. 

"Yeah, I'm still here. I just....What's going on?", I whisper. "Why is this person doing this to you?"

I hear her breathe in a shallow breath.

"Meet me tomorrow at Taco Bell. 2 o'clock. I'll try and explain. Ok?", she whispers back. 

I rub my thumb on the wheel, feeling the warm leather under my touch.

"Yeah. Ok."

She hesitates. "I love you."

"I love you too."

And with that I end the call. I drive the rest of the way in a silent stupor. This time the silent isn't driving me crazy. I stay like this until I climb out of car and quietly enter my home, trying not to wake up my family. It doesn't fully hit me until I climb in to bed.

I don't sleep.

I don't sleep at all.

**Author's Note:**

> Welp, that’s the end of part one! I hope you enjoyed part one and will stick around for part two and three. This is my first (serious) fanfic, so please go easy on me.


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